


What Comes Around

by feralratdad



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dream Smp, Festival Aftermath, Gen, Manipulative Relationship, Quackity Redemption Arc, Schlatt is also evil, Villain Wilbur Soot, might have to update tags along the way, respawns are a thing but there's like a whole process, tommy corruption arc, villain tommy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:20:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27331129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralratdad/pseuds/feralratdad
Summary: "Is it really a 'ploy' if you know I'm right?" Wilbur's eyebrows raise ever so slightly. "I know you, Tommy, maybe better than you know yourself. I know you're angry, I know you want justice, and I know you're-""Oh my god, please, I just want to make my friend a potato!" Tommy covers his ears with a scowl, curling his lip. It's all bravado, though; an act so Wilbur doesn't realize just how much he's really getting to him. 'I am angry. I do want justice. I want to-''I want to kill Schlatt and make it hurt.'---The festival changed a lot of things. Quackity wants to right his wrongs. Tommy wants revenge. And Tubbo's stuck in the middle of it all, trapped in recovery while his skin melts in his nightmares.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt, Alexis | Quackity & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Alexis | Quackity & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, shippers dni - Relationship
Comments: 59
Kudos: 320





	1. off with a bang

**Author's Note:**

> I never realized how incapable I was of describing this fic until I went to write the summary... sooo, hi! :D I've been wanting to write a fic based around the events of the festival since it happened, but nothing really struck me with inspiration. But the only thing I love as much as a corruption arc is a redemption arc, so I thought why not mash both together? So that's what this fic is, because I literally can't write anything without turning someone evil, and villain Tommy is such an underrated concept, and I'm also so excited about Pogtopia Quackity :P
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and have a great day! :D <3
> 
> Oh, and here's a playlist link if you'd like a peek into what I've had on loop :P New Invention fits this fic so well, especially Tommy!  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1DWkgYcM5lTXrn0Gluv3jz?si=_b8x5UgeSWusNn2b7X82GQ

Bright, blinding light flashes just before the burning pain hits, both equally obscuring his vision with darkness and tears. He feels like he's on fire, being torn limb from limb as the sparks shower all around. Distantly, he can hear screaming, but barely over the ringing and rumbling filling his ears. He thinks he can see a face before it happens, stricken with horror. He thinks he hears someone shout his name. Drowning it all out is his own terror, sweeping down his spine with icy fingers and chilling him to his core, freezing him in place as much as the physical agony did.

He opens his mouth, and then  _ it _ repeats, cutting him off forever with a bang.

When Tubbo wakes with a sharp gasp, he feels the tears clinging to his cheeks, fresh and hot. For a moment, the pain is still real, lingering and terrible. He panics, thrashing on instinct, desperately trying to escape the confines of his yellow concrete prison. His heart doesn't stop pounding, not even as someone snaps his name and seizes his wrists, grip unbudging despite his frantic struggling.

"Tubbo! Tubbo, you shouldn't be moving around like that-"

Slowly, the haze of fear and white-hot agony fades, and Tubbo finds himself staring up at Tommy Innit. His friend's teeth are gritted with the effort of trying to hold him in place, and despite the way his eyes are narrowed, Tubbo can see concern in them.

"Jesus, you're just gonna hurt yourself more, you're still recovering and Wilbur'll be pissed...!" Tommy is rambling now, and Tubbo tries to ground himself in his voice, ground himself in reality. The rest of the world begins to take form- the looming grey walls of the ravine of Pogtopia, the wrinkled sheets of the bed he's laying in, the gentle light from the lanterns hanging from the walls.

Right. He's not in Manberg anymore, he's in Pogtopia. Ever since the festival, he's got nowhere else to go, and he'd finally been exiled alongside his friends.

_ Exiled _ . After he'd been blown to bits, first. A shudder wracks his body, and he tries to banish the thought, tries to push the nightmare from his head.

"You were dreaming about it again, weren't you?" Tommy questions, brows furrowed. Apparently noting that he's calmer now, he cautiously releases Tubbo and instead takes a seat beside him on the bed.

"Yeah," Tubbo replies quietly, not seeing a point in lying. It's all he'd been dreaming about for the past two nights since it had happened. Stuck in bed, still in the process of the recovery after respawn, he'd had too much time alone with his thoughts, and his thoughts hadn't been kind to him. To be fair, it would be hard to think about anything besides the explosive, fiery death he'd gone through. There was just so much shit to unpack there.

Tubbo had died before, plenty of times. Everyone had; he'd spent countless days keeping Tommy company as he healed from a nasty stab through the heart, tended to Wilbur after a long fall, watched all his friends suffer, recover, and eventually repeat. It was a terrible process, one he hated with every ounce of his body, but usually he was good at simply moving on after dying.

Something about this one was different, though. It stuck with him as if his own ghost was haunting him from the grave, and he just couldn't shake it. Death by fireworks. It sounded comical, like the kind of thing Tommy would laugh over, but Tubbo would give anything to erase the memory of burning agony from his mind.

"You should really stop," Tommy says, fiddling with his thumbs. "Just like, don't think about it."

"Thanks, I hadn't thought of that."

Tubbo knows Tommy is just trying to help in the only stupid Tommy way he knows how. His friend is lost, has been lost since the festival. He vividly remembers the way Tommy had thrown his arms around him after his respawn, the way he'd clung to him like he was scared he'd disappear the moment he let go, the way he'd sobbed and sobbed into his shirt as Tubbo tried to reassure him that he was alright. He hates seeing Tommy in pain, hates seeing his friend upset. It hurts almost more than his own death had.

Since then, Tommy had barely left his side, pushing his bed close to his and hovering a safe distance nearby, constantly asking if there was anything he could do. Tubbo's grateful for his friend; his presence has been helping him through his recovery more than any regen potion could. Still, he hates having to see the haunted look in Tommy's eyes, hates the way Tommy tiptoes around him like he's a piece of glass about to shatter. Tubbo is  _ fine _ . He's fine, it's really fine. He's already forgiven Technoblade (yes, he's forgiven him, Tubbo convinces himself, because if he doesn't forgive the man who killed him, he'd be a horrible person). And now he can live in Pogtopia with his friends, no longer confined to the White House and Schlatt's office! This is a good thing. It was all worth it.

"You were crying real loud." Tommy breaks the silence they'd settled into, picking absently at a stray thread on the bed sheets.

"Sorry." Tubbo cringes a bit, shifting in bed. It still hurts to sit up, but it hurts to lay down too. Everything hurts all the time; this is the most painful respawn he's been through. "Did I wake anyone up?"

"Just me," Tommy quickly says. "Techno sleeps like a baby. I don't think he'd wake up even if I dropped a bomb on him."

Tubbo gives a small laugh, even though it hurts his ribs. "What about a firework?"

Tommy immediately goes quiet, and Tubbo can feel him tense up. He probably shouldn't have made that joke, but he thinks that maybe if he can laugh about it, it'll make him feel better. Less scared. Scared like when he'd watched Tommy fistfight Techno in the pit Wilbur had dug, scared like when he'd seen him come out bruised and spitting up blood.

"I get it, I'm not funny." Tubbo gives a dramatic sigh. "I'll leave the jokes to you from now on."

"Sorry," Tommy apologizes hurriedly, not meeting his eyes. He clasps his hands in his lap, staring off into the dark ravine. Tubbo half wishes he'd keep talking if only so he doesn't have to sit in silence again, left alone to his thoughts once more. Even though he's tired, even though his eyelids are drooping, he doesn't want to go back to sleep. Doesn't want to relive his own death again.

"Tommy?" he mumbles.

His friend straightens, alert and awake. "Yeah? What is it?" he asks, almost eagerly.

What is he even supposed to say? He doesn't want Tommy to know the truth: that he's scared, that he's hurting, that he's angry. He wants to be strong, needs to be strong, for Wilbur and Niki and Pogtopia but especially Tommy.

"Do you... have dreams too? About dying?" he finally murmurs, biting his lip.

Tommy doesn't answer at first, his figure silent and stoic in the darkness. "Yeah," he admits at last. "Sometimes. I mean, that shit's mighty scary, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Tubbo breathes.

"I'm not scared of dying, though. I'm a real big man." Tommy scoffs then, as if to save face, and he flexes a muscle. "Just a minor setback for Tommy Innit! But..." his words falter, and he lowers his hands back down, giving a small shrug. "I hate watching you die. You and Wilbur and everyone else... It's the fucking worst."

Gingerly, though his body groans in protest, Tubbo reaches out to take Tommy's hand. Tommy's grip instantly tightens around his, warm and steady and reassuring.

"I'll be okay," Tubbo tells him. " _ We'll _ be okay. Everyone dies, y'know. Just a part of life."

And he knows that Tommy knows he's just acting brave. But Tommy just offers him a smile, just lets him have this. "Yeah, you're a real big man too. And we big men just push through it 'n all, amen?"

"Amen."

"You should really get some rest, though," Tommy prompts, gently squeezing his hand. Tubbo's face falls, dread building in his stomach, but his friend adds, "Think about, er, happy things! Like... women. Women make me very happy. And, uh, what do you like... Bees? The Romans? Yeah, think about... Roman bees. Gladiators and shit! Oh, that's a good idea... gladiator bees... do you think bees could fight lions? That's what gladiators fought, right?"

Tubbo can't help but giggle at his friend's ramblings, and he gives a long exhale, at last allowing his eyes to close. As Tommy goes on about gladiator bees, keeping a solid hold on his hand, he somehow manages to drift back off to sleep, the lingering fear banished to the back of his mind.

*****

Bright, blinding light flashes just before the screaming starts. The boy trapped in the box staggers back, struck right in the chest, his eyes glazed over in pure terror. He tries to shout his name, hears someone else yell it as well. The screaming in the crowd begins, filling his chest with horror, and then there's another bang, and the burning starts. His skin is melting,  _ melting _ , and it hurts so bad all he can do is scream for help that'll never come. Pain jolts through his body in a split second of fire and agony and then it's over before it's even begun.

When Quackity wakes up, his bed is drenched in sweat, the sheets kicked off and tangled all around him. For a long while, he lays there, still as a statue, chest heaving and heart pounding. In silence he waits for the fear to subside, trying to remind himself that it's only just a dream. That's right, that death is over, and now he's on the road to recovery.

The thought doesn't do much to ease the burning sensation lingering across his skin, to erase the memory of it melting away.

With a small groan, Quackity gingerly sits up, easing himself out of bed. His body recoils in protest at the action, but he pushes through it. The recovery process is slow going, but thanks to Manberg's best doctors, he's moving steadily along. Schlatt's already mostly back to work, and Quackity will no doubt join him back at the White House soon. No matter how painful this respawn had been, it'll all be behind him shortly.

Briefly, he wonders how Tubbo's recovery is going. Would his be longer, more awful, without the expert care of professionals? Did Pogtopia even have the resources to deal with a respawn like this? A shiver runs down his spine at the memories of the public execution, and he quickly forced those thoughts out of his mind. He can't think about Tubbo, because then he'll feel the familiar churning guilt in his stomach, and he's not supposed to feel that.

His house is small, and his bathroom is even smaller. Inside, Quackity stares at himself in the mirror and sees a stranger staring back. The burn scars across his face are new, as are his sunken eyes and dark bags. He hasn't slept well since the festival, and he can't imagine how anyone could. It had been a total shit show, one horror after another until the final agonizing death most of Manberg had suffered during Techno's rampage.

Shakily, he turns on the faucet and splashes his face with water, the coolness against his skin finally being enough to calm his nerves. There's no fire here, he's safe inside his house and the worst is over.

"I'm okay," he tells his reflection, meeting its eyes. He says it out loud because he has no one here to comfort him except for himself. He's... Well, he's alone here in Manberg, isn't he? George was barely around, Fundy wasn't interested in getting friendly, and Schlatt-

He doesn't even want to think about Schlatt.

"I'm okay," he says again. The Quackity in the mirror doesn't seem convinced.

_ Pathetic _ . This is absolutely pathetic. He's not a child in need of comfort, he's the fattest ass in the cabinet, the fucking Vice President of Manberg. The events of the festival shouldn't shake him at all. So why does he feel like this? Honestly, he just wishes someone was here with him. Anyone, really- a doctor, a friend, hell, even Schlatt would be a welcome sight. At least then he wouldn't be alone in the cold with his thoughts and the fire.

The urge to slam his fist into the mirror and feel the glass shatter around him is incredibly strong right now, so before it appeals to him further, Quackity turns on his heel and leaves the bathroom. He collapses back into bed and buries his head into his pillow, too tired to pull the covers back over. His limbs are burning anyways.

Sleep doesn't find him again. Fear shakes its fist at it and chases it away.


	2. the devil on your shoulder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy gets some advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AH HI thanks for all the support on this fic already!! :DDD Here's another update since I already have it written, but I can't promise daily updates all the time like the last fic :P As always, comments are greatly loved and appreciated, and thank you all so much! Have a great day <3

Tommy wakes early, early enough that the lanterns haven't been lit yet and the boy sleeping soundly at his side hasn't stirred. Groggily, he rubs his eyes, carefully sitting up so as to not disturb Tubbo. He must've fallen asleep right beside him, passed out from his own weariness before he could make his way back to his own bed.

Part of him wants to return to dreamland, to lay down and let the world disappear around him, but he knows he can't. Tommy hasn't slept much since the festival at all, and tonight had been no different. Truth be told, Tubbo hadn't woken him up, despite what he'd told his friend- he'd already been awake, unable to shake the fear that something awful would happen if he drifted off and wasn't there for the other boy. And when Tubbo had started to violently thrash in bed, sobbing and gasping, Tommy knew he'd been right.

He can't sleep. He can't afford to, he needs to be there for his best friend. Tubbo was like his brother, his other half, and what kind of shit person would he be if he wasn't there for him during the worst respawn of his life? He doesn't want Tubbo to worry about him, though; he needs him to focus on his own recovery. So if he has to lie a bit, so be it.

Tommy's exhausted. Mentally, emotionally, and physically. His body hurts from his brawl with Techno, his heart hurts from watching Tubbo suffer, his soul hurts from listening to Wilbur go on and on about how they couldn't trust anyone. At least the man hadn't detonated the bombs under L'Manberg. It was a hollow victory, though, given what had happened at the festival instead.

_ Technoblade _ . Like a fucking dog, crawling to his master's side and obeying orders without thought. He'd killed Tubbo, he was the one who was putting his best friend through all this shit. Just thinking about it makes his blood boil, makes him see red. Maybe Tubbo had forgiven him, but Tommy could never.

Really, though, the one he hates the most is Schlatt. There weren't enough words in the whole vast universe to describe just how much he fucking hated Schlatt. That man had made Tubbo organize his own public execution, and Tubbo had been so  _ excited _ for it. He'd rambled to Tommy for days about his speech and the decorations and how perfect everything was, seeming happier than he'd been in a while. And hell, Tommy had been excited too, if only to keep the bright smile on his friend's face.

He's glad Schlatt has to go through the same agonizing respawn process as Tubbo, glad he gets at least that bit of karma, but it's not enough. Tommy wants to see him suffer, wants to wipe that smirk right off his face, wants him to regret ever being born. He thinks maybe beating the living shit out of the president might satisfy the rage churning in his stomach. Or maybe it won't, but he'd feel a lot better afterward either way.

If Wilbur could hear his thoughts right now, he'd probably be pleased. Wilbur was- well, Wilbur wasn't  _ Wilbur _ these days. But no matter how off the rails his older brother had gone ( _ "are we the villains, Tommy?"; the detonator clutched tightly in hand; cheering him on despite the blood on his knuckles and the blood on his face and the blood in the pit- _ ) maybe there had been some truth to his ravings. If Techno wasn't on their side, who else really was?

With a long exhale, Tommy pushes himself to his feet and heads down the ravine. It didn't do any good to dwell on those thoughts; the thoughts that had been plaguing him since the festival, since he'd raced off in search for the button in a burst of fury and lapse in judgement, since he'd been possessed with the urge to blow the people who had killed Tubbo sky high and straight to hell. It's not that he's  _ scared _ of thinking, it's just...

Well, he's scared of thinking. Nowadays, anyway.

The stairs carved out are narrow, and he carefully picks his way down them, occasionally kicking a few rocks and sending them falling to their deaths. Techno had once put up a safety railing, but Wilbur had torn it down, claiming they weren't babies in need of extra assistance. Unfortunately, there had been a good few Pogtopia deaths at the hands of the stairs anyways, so Tommy is sure to watch his step. Once he's back on steady, stoney ground, he lights one of the furnaces and prepares for another breakfast of baked potatoes.

"Good morning, Tommy," an easygoing voice says from behind, and Tommy jumps a bit, startled. Facing him, arms folded and an amused grin twitching at his lips, is Wilbur Soot. Great, speak of the devil.

"Hey, Wilbur," Tommy replies with a small sigh, turning back to the furnace.

Wilbur gives a snort and takes a seat beside him. "You don't sound too happy to see me."

"I'm just tired."

"Another long night?" Wilbur's brows raise, and he fixes him with a calculating stare. "You know Tubbo won't disappear if you close your eyes, right?"

"Oh, mind your own business," Tommy says gruffly, refusing to meet his eyes. "Why're you up so early, anyways?"

"No real reason." Wilbur adjusts his glasses, leaning back. "And it is my business, you know. You're basically family, Tommy. If something's bothering you, I just want to help."

His words are kind, but Tommy doesn't trust them. How is he supposed to assume Wilbur has good intentions after the festival fiasco? No, right now, he has to be careful. He doesn't want to do anything that might set the man off again, he needs to play this safe.

As if reading his mind, Wilbur says, "Oh, come on, Tommy. Since when do you close yourself off from me?"

"Since you decided to become a fucking terrorist," Tommy spits out, harsher than he'd intended. God, it was too early in the morning to get into a fight. He just wants to eat his potato in peace and quiet.

Wilbur just chuckles at that, shaking his head. "You were more than ready to follow my lead after Techno killed-"

"Can't we just enjoy  _ one _ breakfast without talking about explosives and shit?" Tommy cuts him off before he can finish. "Like... I don't know, normal people?"

Wilbur's smile grows. "If that's what'll make you feel better."

Tommy ends up tossing in a potato for Wilbur, and they eat in silence as the sun rises outside and the rest of Pogtopia stirs to life. Niki joins them first with a wide beam and a happy "hello!", then Techno passes briefly, snatching a potato and retreating back to where he'd come from. Tommy is glad Techno seems to be taking the hint that he's not wanted around him.

Finally, Tommy pushes himself to his feet, grabbing a plate and another potato for Tubbo. Without a word, he departs, heading back up the stairs toward the little nook they'd mined out for his friend. The lanterns are all lit by now, basking Pogtopia in a warm glow. Tubbo's room is still dark, though, so Tommy carefully balances the plate in one hand and lights the lantern near the bed.

Tubbo shifts slightly in bed, mumbling something under his breath, then he blinks open his eyes. "Mmm... 'morning," he mutters, starting to sit up.

"Hey, big man!" Tommy says cheerfully, hurrying to help him prop himself up despite the other's protests. "I've got breakfast. You'll never guess what it is."

"Oh, please tell me it's something besides potatoes."

"It's not potatoes."

"Liar."

Tommy grins, passing him the plate. Tubbo takes it from him gingerly with trembling hands, and Tommy resists the urge to help him hold it. Tubbo would just get annoyed with him for that. Instead, he watches in silence as Tubbo takes a bite, chewing slowly before swallowing.

"Sleep well?" Tommy asks.

"Until you woke me up." Tubbo gives a playful eye roll. "Yeah, I slept a lot better. I hope you got some rest too." He eyes him scrutinizingly, and Tommy returns the look with what he hopes is a convincing smile.

"Slept like a rock!"

"You look like someone ran over you over five times and then punted you off a cliff."

"Well, that's just mean." Tommy frowns deeply. "I look amazing. It's an outrage I don't have a girlfriend by now."

"I'm just worried about you," Tubbo replies, picking at his potato. Tommy's heart twists at the words. He shouldn't be wasting his energy worrying about Tommy, Tommy wasn't the one who'd been blown to bits by a firework.

"I swear to god, worry about yourself for once," Tommy groans, lightly hitting him on the shoulder.

Tubbo gives a short laugh and moves to hit him back. As he leans forward, his face abruptly twists in pain, and he gives a short gasp as the plate drops from his hands, clattering to the floor with a sharp crash. Tommy's eyes widen in alarm and he immediately scoots closer, mind scrambling to figure out what was wrong.

" _ Fuck _ ," Tubbo hisses, clutching at his chest. "God, shit, sorry, I shouldn't have... Fuck, the plate-"

"Are you okay?" Tommy carefully helps him lean back down against the pillow, Tubbo allowing him to without the usual protest.

"Burns," he mutters through clenched teeth, his eyes squeezed shut. "Sorry."

"Can you breathe alright? Where does it hurt? Do you need water? Should I get Niki?"

"Tommy." Tubbo opens one eye and offers him a clearly strained grin. "Just gimme a sec. It's fine."

Waiting is torture, every second crawling by slow as a snail trapped in quicksand. Slowly, Tubbo's labored breathing evens out, and he releases a long sigh of relief.

"...now should I get Niki?" Tommy ventures to ask.

"You can get me another potato," Tubbo shoots back dryly, but there's humor in his voice.

Tommy swallows hard, forcing out a laugh. "I should be making you go get it yourself. You dropped the last one, not me."

"Rude," Tubbo pouts. "Come on, Tommy, I'm in  _ sooo  _ much pain. Would you really deny me breakfast?"

"Oh, shut up, I'm on my way." Tommy pushes himself to his feet, lightly flicking him on the forehead before racing away, ignoring Tubbo's following indignant cry.

Wilbur is alone by the furnace; Niki's nowhere in sight. "Back for more?" the man asks, not looking up from where he's watching the dying embers. "Heard quite a racket up there."

"Tubbo's not recovering well," is all Tommy says, more than ready to pointedly ignore him and pop a fresh potato into the furnace.

"What a shame," Wilbur comments. The flickering flames reflect off his glasses, giving them an orange glow. "I'm sure Schlatt's already back on his feet."

Tommy freezes, half poised to open the chest full of potatoes. "Why's that?"

"Well, he wasn't hit head on, so he'd probably recover faster." Wilbur's voice is nonchalant, factual even. "Plus, he has all of Manberg's doctors at his disposal. I wouldn't be surprised if he brushes this off like nothing more than a scratch."

The thought of Schlatt walking around Manberg like it was just another normal day makes Tommy's blood boil. Tubbo was still bound to bed, kept awake by pain and fear, and Schlatt barely had to suffer? Part of him knows it's a far reach to make- that Schlatt is already better and over it- but another part thinks Wilbur is probably right. If there's one thing he knows about Schlatt, it's that that man always lands on his feet.

"Though," Wilbur adds, almost as if it were an afterthought, "He'd probably still be weak. Perfect time to strike, if you were, say... looking for revenge."

"Oh, is that what this is? Just another ploy to get me to think like you?" Annoyance sparks in Tommy's chest, and he resists the urge to roll his eyes. What else should he have expected from Wilbur?

"Is it really a 'ploy' if you know I'm right?" Wilbur's eyebrows raise ever so slightly. "I know you, Tommy, maybe better than you know yourself. I know you're angry, I know you want justice, and I know you're-"

"Oh my god, please, I just want to make my friend a fucking potato!" Tommy covers his ears with a scowl, curling his lip. It's all bravado, though; an act so Wilbur doesn't realize just how much he's really getting to him.  _ I am angry. I do want justice. I want to- _

_ I want to kill Schlatt and make it hurt. _

Wilbur returns to gazing into the furnace, lips twitching upward. "I'm sure Tubbo's hungry. You should get to that, then. But if you really want revenge... and honestly, you'd be completely justified, Tommy; well, now would probably be a good time to go for it. Strike when they don't expect it."

"Thanks, Wilbur, real good advice." Tommy finally gives an eye roll as he crouches down by the furnace, sticking the potato inside. "You should start a radio show."

Wilbur just laughs, and somehow that's more chilling than any response.

*****

The day drags on, slowly and steadily. Tommy is stuck running chores around the ravine. Mostly for Niki, though he's sure to check in on Tubbo every so often (more like every five minutes, and Tubbo is  _ definitely _ starting to get annoyed, but who's keeping count?).

At some point he finds himself with a lunch of even more potatoes, perched on the edge of Tubbo's bed and balancing his plate carefully on his knees. Tubbo scarfs down his own meal, finishing in record time. He's probably bored, Tommy thinks. The respawn process was always incredibly boring, and even more so when you're stuck as an outcast underground.

Eyeing his friend, Tommy turns Wilbur's words over in his head. Despite knowing better, it was hard not to consider how enticing the idea of beating the shit out of Schlatt was. And wouldn't it be better for Pogtopia too, to take out their biggest enemy while he's still weak? It's not like he'd really be doing it for revenge, more like... for the good of everyone else. Yeah, that sounded right.

Awkwardly, he clears his throat, drawing Tubbo's attention to him. "Are you... mad?" he asks cautiously, scratching the back of his neck. "At, like, Schlatt, I mean."

"At Schlatt?" Tubbo's brows furrowed, as if he'd been taken by surprise at the question. He takes a bit to think about it, and Tommy waits with barely contained patience. "Well... I mean, he did publicly execute me at an event he made me plan. And it hurt quite a lot. So..." he trails off, a slight bitterness lacing his tone, then he shrugs abruptly. "Actually, no, I don't think I am. It was sorta justified, in a way. Like, I was kind of a double agent and all..."

"Justified?! How the hell is that justified?" Tommy exclaims, his jaw nearly dropping. He can't believe how causally Tubbo says it, how easily he shrugs it off. The same as when he'd forgiven Technoblade, even as Tommy dove into the pit to beat the man black and blue out of vengeance. "He could've just... I don't know, arrested you or something! We're just  _ kids _ , Tubbo! Well, not me, I'm not a child, but- anyways- How're you meant to have the death penalty set on you?!"

"It's not  _ really _ the death penalty... I mean, I respawned and all, so it's not like Schlatt thought I'd be gone forever..."

"Are you defending him now?!"

"No!" Tubbo cries with a quick shake of his head. "No, god no! I'm just saying... I mean, holding grudges only ever hurts you, y'know? It never does anything to the person you're holding the grudge against..."

Tommy thinks he's definitely wrong about that. His fist against Schlatt's horrid, ugly face would definitely hurt, he'd make sure of it.

"And that's why I always just try to move on, right?" Tubbo adds, almost as an afterthought. "The best way to heal is to make peace with things, not build up resentment. So... no, I don't think I'm mad. I don't... I mean, it wouldn't be right to be mad."

Such vastly different advice than what Wilbur had given him. Tubbo's taking the high road, and that's something about him that Tommy's always respected. But at the same time, Tommy despises it. He doesn't want to take the high road, he wants to go low and drag Schlatt down with him. Tubbo's words don't sit right with him, make him feel a bit sick even. The thought of just letting go and moving on was a terrifying one. If he didn't have his rage to fuel him, to push him onward and keep him going even when he felt exhausted and weary and ready to sink into the ground, what the hell was he supposed to do?

"Tommy?" Tubbo asks tentatively. Tommy realizes he's fallen silent, but he can't bring himself to really care.

Even if Wilbur was crazy, at least his advice made  _ sense _ . An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth- or whatever that saying was. Technoblade had once told him the only universal language was violence, and that was something Tommy understood after months of fighting and wars and bloodshed. Not this whole rubbish thing about forgiving and forgetting. Tommy didn't like things he didn't understand.

"Want my potato?" Tommy offers, setting it down on the bed and pushing himself to his feet in the same motion. "I'm not that hungry."

Tubbo's face twists in confusion, and worry glints in his eyes. "Where're you going?"

"There's just something Wilbur wanted me to do today that I haven't gotten around to yet." Tommy stretches, popping his neck for good measure. "Hey, I'll bring ya back something that's not potatoes."

"Wilbur? Tommy, don't do anything stupid-"

"Stupid's my middle name!" Tommy calls over his shoulder as he swiftly retreats from the room, a newfound determination burning in his chest. This'll settle things once and for all, get everything set fair and square, and then maybe finally he'll feel like he can breathe again.


	3. despite your good intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quackity never wanted this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah hi, hello all, it's been weird not doing daily updates, though it does give me a bit of breathing room :P anyways, here's bit of a longer chapter than I usually write for fics to hopefully make up for it <3 have an amazing day!!

Quackity wakes bright and early just as the sun peeks out from behind the hills, ready to bask the world in its light. He goes through the motions of getting dressed slowly and carefully, careful not to strain himself. The last thing he wants is to end up confined to his bed again, so it's with gentle movements that he shrugs on his suit jacket and straightens his tie.

He's not feeling particularly hungry- his appetite has been in shambles since the festival- so he skips breakfast and heads straight for the White House. It's going to be his first day back in office, and though the doctors had warned him not to push himself too much, at least he was finally allowed out of his house.

The White House's halls are oddly empty and quiet. Quackity's footsteps echo off the walls, every sharp click of his polished shoes against the ground a little too loud. His feet carry him to Schlatt's office, knowing he's going to have to face the man sooner or later.

The last time he'd seen Schlatt, it had been on the stage during the festival, as he ordered the public execution of a sixteen year old. And Quackity... Well, what had Quackity done? Just stood there; helped, even. The guilt eating him up inside resurfaces, and he hurries to shove it back down as he pushes open the door.

"Haven't you ever heard of knocking?" Schlatt's curt voice asks. The president is sitting behind his desk, idly shifting through paperwork. He looks good as new, the only sign he'd been through the same terrible death as Quackity being the faint burn scars on his face.

"Hi, Schlatt, I'm happy to see you too," Quackity scoffs.

Schlatt rolls his eyes, seemingly already fed up with his vice's attitude. "You're back already? What a shame. Things were so much quieter without you around."

"Aw, you know you missed me."

Waving one hand vaguely at the chair across from his desk, Schlatt gives a small snort. "Take a seat, Quackity, take a seat."

Quackity can't help but feel relieved as he sinks into the chair, immediately slouching over. Though he's trying to act differently, he's not fully healed yet, and his body aches with the effort of standing upright.

Schlatt folds his hands across the desk, leaning forward to face him. "So, you're all clear?"

"Yep, officially back in business, baby!" Quackity puts on a wide, confident grin, hoping it's convincing enough.

Schlatt hums, scanning him over briefly with his slitted, narrowed eyes. "Well, if you say so. Just take it easy today, it would be a bother if you set back your recovery like this."

Most people would take that as concern, but Quackity knows better. Everything Schlatt says comes from a place of calculating coldness, not anything else. So all he says in reply is, "Yessir, you got it!" with a quick salute to go along with it.

"Though," Schlatt adds after a moment of thought, "You may have to step it up a bit more around here to pick up some slack. We're low staffed since the festival disaster. Half our cabinet is still in recovery, and Tubbo's gone for good."

Quackity swallows hard at the mention of the former secretary of state.

"So yeah, just take a few potions, suck it up, and get to work." Schlatt gives a dismissive gesture, already turning back down to look at his paperwork. Quackity is preparing to push himself to his feet when Schlatt says, "Hey, Tubbo- Ah, shit, force of habit. God, it's weird not having that kid hanging around."

Quackity doesn't know what unlucky force of nature prompts him to reply. Maybe it's guilt boiling in his stomach, maybe it's his inability to watch his tongue, or maybe it's just the way he's fed up. Fed up about all of this, about the way Schlatt can so easily do what he does without a second thought. Whatever it was, he regrets the words as soon as they're out of his mouth. "Well maybe if you hadn't  _ murdered _ him, this wouldn't be that much of a problem."

Schlatt's gaze immediately becomes a tad more dangerous, a tad more hostile. Quackity tries not to squirm under his burning stare, though it feels like the president is pulling him apart and looking into his mind to see all the traitorous thoughts racing a hundred miles a minute. "Defending double agents, Quackity? That doesn't look too good on you. You do know he was spying on us for our enemies, right?"

"I-"

"He was ready to sell us out in a second. I did what had to be done. Sometimes, examples need to be set, otherwise history repeats itself." Schlatt tilts his head to one side, lips twitching upward. "So anyone else entertaining thoughts of treason? They'll remember what happened on that stage, and they'll think twice."

"I know, but-"

Schlatt doesn't even give him a chance to talk. "Why're you worried about that sort of thing anyways? Do you feel  _ bad _ for him? Does poor Quackity have a guilty conscience?" he asks mockingly with a loud scoff.

"I don't think it's right that we murdered a child in front of a public audience!" Quackity finally manages to burst out, heart racing at the confession he's been dwelling on since the festival. "It's not- no, I  _ know _ it's not right! What the fuck did we do, Schlatt?"

"We punished a traitor."

"We made a  _ kid _ plan his own execution!"

"Oh, go cry about it," Schlatt groans, putting his head in his hands. "That  _ kid _ knew full well what he was getting into! He didn't do anything he didn't want to do."

"How is this right? How is any of this right?" Abruptly, Quackity stands, though his legs wobble uselessly and his knees threaten to buckle. "Wilbur's using child soldiers, we're giving public executions, what the hell is next? This isn't what I wanted for Manberg! This is- this is fucking awful!"

"If all you're going to do is stand around and complain, then get out of my office." Schlatt already seems bored with him, and he shakes his head and picks up his pen again. "And if you're not feeling up to work, then go the fuck back home."

"I'm your vice president!" Quackity cries. He knows he shouldn't be surprised by Schlatt's lack of concern, but it still stings, knowing the man he put into power doesn't value what he has to say. "Can I not even have a discussion about the shit that's happening in our cabinet with you?"

"No. Get to work or go home. Stop wasting my time."

"You know what?" Quackity says quietly, heart catching in his throat. "I ran for president to prevent a dictatorship. But it's starting to look like I just helped a new one come in."

"Run your mouth all you want, it doesn't change the facts." Schlatt meets his eyes once again, and Quackity nearly recoils in fear at the pure malice inside the president's gaze. "Don't bother me again unless you have something worthy to report."

Quackity knows it's important to pick and choose one's battles. He decides this is  _ not _ one to pick, so he hurriedly retreats from the office without another word. Once outside, the door safely closed behind him, he leans against the wall and sucks in a labored breath. Fuck, his first day back on the job and he was already getting into beef with the president.  _ Real good move, Quackity _ , he thinks bitterly, _ especially when you're one punch from heading to the emergency room _ .

God, he needs to get out of here. Maybe he should just go back home instead, because the thought of staying inside this building another moment longer physically hurts. Whatever, Schlatt can deal with all this work himself. Quackity isn't lifting a finger for him today. He recollects himself, straightening his beanie and adjusting his sunglasses. Geez, he's already exhausted and he's barely been out of bed. The idea of a nap is incredibly appealing right now, so he heads out of the White House and prepares to make the walk home.

Halfway down the hill, right near the podium, something abruptly slams into him, knocking him right over and sending him sprawling out onto the ground. Immediately, his body burns in protest, his still healing limbs falling useless around him. A pained cry pulls itself involuntarily from his lips, and before he can process what's going on, there's a sword pointed at his throat.

"Where's Schlatt?!" a pissed off voice demands, and Quackity finds himself staring right up at Tommy Innit.

*****

Sneaking into Manberg had been incredibly easy. Tommy didn't see a single bit of security, which made sense given that half the population had been taken out by Techno at the festival. He'd strolled right on in, though careful to keep himself hidden from prying eyes, and hadn't run into any difficulties.

Now, where the hell would Schlatt be holed up in? His first thought is the White House, but he's a bit unsure about how well he'd be able to infiltrate that place without blowing his cover. The president's office was bound to be better guarded, right? Maybe he should wait, try to catch Schlatt when he's outside.

That's when he spotted someone leaving the building from his vantage point, someone all too familiar.  _ Quackity _ . The last time he'd seen the vice president, he'd been helping box Tubbo in with yellow concrete before he'd fallen victim to Technoblade's fireworks the same as everyone else had.

He's  _ walking _ . Quackity is walking. That's what sets Tommy off, really, the fact that he's standing on two legs without issue, the fact that he's already back at work. Tubbo's still stuck in bed, unable to move, and Quackity is  _ walking _ .

Before he can think, before he can consider the consequences of his actions, he's already moving. And before he knows it, he's knocked the vice president right off his feet and has his sword pinning him down, vision alight with bright red anger.

"Where's Schlatt?!" he barks sharply, and Quackity blinks dumbfounded up at him.

_ "Tommy?" _ he says his name like he can barely believe it.

"Where the hell is Schlatt?" Tommy moves the sword closer, and Quackity visibly gulps.

"W-whoa, h-hey," the vice stammers, and he hacks out a cough. Tommy pauses, and that's when he notices just how labored the man's breathing has grown, just how pained his eyes are.

Part of him thinks he needs to stop. Maybe Quackity hadn't been as recovered as he'd thought, and shit, maybe he'd actually hurt him. The other part, the dark and dangerous one that he wishes didn't exist, revels in his pain. Damn right he should be suffering, suffering the same way Tubbo was back at Pogtopia.

He listens to the first part and withdraws his weapon, instead holding out a hand toward the man on the ground. Quackity stares at him, confusion and doubt written all across his face, and after a few moments he shakily reaches up to accept the offering. Tommy hauls him to his feet before helping him over to the podium, carefully lowering him down onto the steps. Quackity leans back against them, closing his eyes and sucking in a deep breath.

Tommy waits, used to this by now with all the time he'd spent fretting over Tubbo. He fidgets with impatience, half regretting his decision and ready to turn back to shaking Big Q down for information. At last, though, Quackity's breathing evens out, and he hugs his arms against his chest, cracking one eye open to look at Tommy.

"What the hell, man?" he finally asks. "That was weird as fuck."

"Shut up," Tommy scoffs, beginning to pace back and forth to stifle his urgency. "Are you done having a stroke now?"

"I was  _ not _ having a stroke."

"Just tell me where Schlatt is," he grits out. "Before I decide to kill you again."

"Whoaaaa, hey now! No need to get aggressive." Quackity hurriedly holds up his hands, scooting back a bit. "...why the hell do you want to know? Hey, what're you even doing here anyways? You're banned from Manberg!"

"Do you look like you're in a position to be asking questions?" Tommy adjusts his grip on his sword pointedly, and Quackity takes the hint. "So spit it out and get on your way."

"...I dunno if I should," the vice replies, eyeing him cautiously. "This is sketchy as hell."

A spark of annoyance flares inside Tommy, and he whirls around to face him, jabbing the sword in his direction. "Just fucking tell me!"

"AH! Geez, okay, okay! He's in the White House, his office!" Quackity blurts. "Whatever you're gonna do, I don't really care anyways... just leave me alone!"

Now that's enough to get Tommy curious. Snitches get stitches, so why was Quackity so ready to sell out and move along? "Hey, what's that all about?" he questions, giving the sword a few more jabs for good measure. "He's your president, you're doing a real shit job at protecting him."

"I know he's my president," Quackity grumbles, glancing away. "Doesn't mean I'm happy about it. Honestly, I wouldn't mind seeing him knocked down a peg."

Tommy raises his brows. "The fuck? You're supposed to be Schlatt's bitch, what's this attitude?"

"Schlatt's bitch?!" Quackity's eyes go wide. "Who the hell calls me that?" he shrieks indignantly, and Tommy almost laughs. Almost.

"Doesn't really matter anyways," Quackity adds, tone quieting. He stares down at the ground as if it's the most interesting thing in the world. "I just... think I made a mistake."

"Which one? Be more specific, you've fucked up a  _ lot _ these past few days."

Quackity shoots him a brief glare, though it lacks any real fire. "Joining my votes with Schlatt. I wanted to believe in him, y'know? That he would be a good leader. That's all I wanted. But..." the Vice swallows, hesitating. "He's a dictator, isn't he? I've been thinking about it since the festival... since he- well, since he killed Tubbo."

At those words, Tommy's reminded of his purpose, of the reason he came here, of the rage churning in his gut. "Yeah, he killed Tubbo," he spits out. "That's the man you made president, Quackity. Real nice fucking job you did there."

Quackity winces, but Tommy doesn't give a shit if he hurt his feelings or not. They  _ killed _ Tubbo. Now he was going to kill Schlatt in return. "I'm done with this," he says, turning on his heel.

"What are you going to do?" Quackity calls after him.

"I'm gonna kill Schlatt."

"What kind of plan is that?! Killing Schlatt isn't going to help anything. He'll just respawn."

"I'm not trying to help anything. I'm doing this for myself."

"For revenge?" Quackity cries. "Tommy, come on, that's stupid. You're just going to get yourself in a shit load of trouble!"

"I don't care!"

"Go home, Tommy," Quackity says, and he sounds tired. It's enough to make Tommy halt in his tracks, the pure exhaustion in his voice. It's drained of every emotion, leaving only bitter numbness. "Go back to Pogtopia. Your friends need you with them, not out here putting your life in danger."

_ Go home.  _ He'd come out all this way, why the hell would he turn around and go back empty handed? Briefly, he thinks of Tubbo, of Niki. God, he'd just left Tubbo alone without an explanation. Was he worried about him? Maybe this was a bad idea.

But Wilbur's words echo in his head. If he didn't kill Schlatt now, he might never get a chance to, never get a chance to satisfy the burning desire for vengeance eating him from the inside out. Wilbur had stoked the flames, and now they needed fuel. Tommy needs it, craves it like he needs air to breathe.

"Tommy," Quackity says again, and Tommy snaps out of his thoughts, distantly realizing he was starting to shake. "If you really want revenge, then get it in an efficient way, one that'll actually hurt Schlatt. Not this dumb bullshit."

"And why the hell would I listen to anything you have to say?" Tommy demands, spinning around to face him. "You're his Vice President!"

"...I don't want this," Quackity whispers, voice wavering. Then he repeats, more firmly this time, as if he's gathered his courage properly, "I don't want this. The festival, Tubbo... It's all wrong."

"So what do you want?" Tommy barely dares to ask.

"I... I want to fix this shit. This fucking mess I made." Quackity gestures vaguely with his hands, mouth set with a determined frown. "God, just- just tell me how, and I'll do it. I can't live with myself if I don't."

" _ You _ want to help  _ me _ ?" Tommy can barely believe what he's hearing. What the hell? It's all happening so fast, he can barely wrap his head around it. "You wanna join Pogtopia?"

"If that's what it takes." And Quackity  _ never _ sounds serious about things, he's always laughing or making a joke, but this time, he does. It sends a chill down Tommy's spine. "I want Schlatt out of office. He's not right for this country. He's hurt too many people, and I can't- I can't keep letting him hurt more."

All of Tommy's plans crumble before him, and his grip on his sword becomes uncertain. This was a hurdle he hadn't been prepared for at all, but staring at Quackity, he can't bring himself to walk away and continue. The Vice sounds so oddly broken, like he barely knows what he's doing anymore. And goddammit, Tommy's good conscience won't let him refuse, no matter how much he longs to drive his sword through Schlatt's heart. Wilbur would be so disappointed in him.

Good thing Wilbur's not here.

"I can't just... let you in," Tommy says uncertainly. "But if you're sure about this..."

"Yeah. I'm sure. I can't take this anymore. Schlatt doesn't deserve my fat ass in his cabinet."

"Then I'll go back and talk to Wilbur about it," Tommy decides. That can't be too bad, can it? And though his heart sinks and his stomach twists at the idea of leaving without vengeance, he knows he has to do this. It's the right thing to do, and it would probably accomplish a lot more in the long run than just temporarily murdering the president.

(Even if murdering the president would make him feel a lot better, would help him feel a little less like the world is crumbling all around him.)

"Thank you," Quackity breathes, and somehow just those two words make it almost worth it. Almost.


	4. now the room is getting quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You know we can't trust him, right?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a bit longer than I would've liked, it's been a low energy week :P hope you're all doing good, and thank you so much for all the comments and encouragement! it's always a mood booster <3 have an amazing day!

When Tubbo hears footsteps outside his room, he immediately perks up, his eagerness overriding the mild pain that comes with the quick movement. Thank God, is Tommy finally back? It had been hours- at least, he thinks so. It's hard to tell time inside the little nook Tommy had hollowed out for him, deep in the heart of the ravine and far away from the sun. (If there's anything Tubbo misses about Manberg, it's the sun.)

He's been waiting anxiously since his friend had left, fear worming its way into his gut. Logically, he knows he shouldn't be too worried; after all, Tommy goes out all the time, and he always comes back fine. But he has a bad feeling about this, and he's learned to trust his intuition.

"Tommy-" he starts excitedly, ready to chew his friend out and interrogate him until he gets some answers, but he stops short. It isn't Tommy who's entered his room, folding his arms and studying him like he's some exhibit at a museum, but Wilbur.

Tubbo hasn't seen Wilbur since the festival. The man hadn't visited him at all during his recovery, and Tommy had said he was mostly keeping to himself. But here he was now, hair a matted mess and dark bags evident under his eyes. Tubbo's first instinct is to be concerned, to ask the man if he was alright, but something in Wilbur's gaze silences the words before they leave his mouth.

"Hello, Tubbo, how're you feeling?" Wilbur asks kindly, his tone not matching the look on his face at all.

After months spent in Schlatt's cabinet as a spy, Tubbo's learned a few things. For one, he's gotten good at recognizing when people are lying to him. Wilbur's voice right now is the same as Schlatt used to use on him when he wanted something. Once, Tubbo might've fallen for it, but not after all the manipulation he'd been through, not after the festival. He's a very different boy than the one he'd been before all that, and he's not sure if that change was for the better or not.

"Good," he responds cautiously, trying to get a read on what Wilbur's really here for. He doesn't know quite what to think of Wilbur these days. Tommy had told him he's crazy, he's different, he's changed. Tubbo definitely believes it, but he feels like it isn't that easy to just write Wilbur off as a lost cause. People weren't that one dimensional. "How're you?"

"Doing fine." Wilbur smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Sorry I haven't come to check on you. I've been a bit busy."

"It's fine," Tubbo hurries to say. "I've had Tommy and Niki to keep my company, so..."

"Ah, Tommy," Wilbur says almost wistfully, coming to stand by the bed. "He's pretty worried about you, y'know."

"Yeah, I can tell."

Wilbur chuckles at that. "You can't be too annoyed with him. He's such a feeler, that Tommy. Always controlled by his emotions."

"Umm... I guess." Tubbo isn't quite sure what to say to that. He sits up straighter, leaning back against the wall to support himself. "Uh, speaking of that, do you know where Tommy is? He said he had to run an errand for you."

"Oh?" Wilbur sounds intrigued, and something flickers in his eyes. "Mmm, interesting. I think I might have some idea."

The bad feeling stirs once more in Tubbo's chest, twisting his stomach into knots. "Where's that?"

Instead of answering his question, Wilbur says, "You've got to understand, Tubbo, you've got to understand. He does it all for you. For Niki, for Pogtopia, for his friends... Well, I'd reckon he'd burn the whole world down for us."

Though the room isn't cold and he's piled high with warm blankets, a chill settles over him, sweeping down his spine with icy fingers. "What does..."

"Well, you're practically family to him. And I get it! I feel exactly the same." Wilbur's smile grows into something more of an unsettling grin. "He's like my little brother, that Tommy. So Tubbo, Tubbo, you need to trust me, okay? You need to trust me. You need to know I'd never do anything to hurt him. You know that, right? You know I just want what's best for him?"

The more Wilbur goes on, the more wrong Tubbo feels, the more his gut screams at him to get out and run. But why? Wilbur's not saying anything malicious. He's just rambling, really, and it's not even all that coherent. He's probably just rattled by the festival, same as everyone else in Pogtopia was. If talking about this is what helps Wilbur feel better, shouldn't Tubbo let him go on? He's not exactly a therapist, but if he can help his friend by being there for him, isn't that the least he can do?

"Yeah, I know," Tubbo reassures him with a gentle, cautious smile. "Don't worry, Wilbur, we're going to be okay."

Wilbur stiffens, almost in surprise, then the smile returns to his face. He reaches down to ruffle Tubbo's hair, and though his hand is a bit too harsh, Tubbo brushes it off. "Thatta boy, that's right. I'm glad we understand each other. I'll take care of Tommy, so don't worry too much about him, alright?"

"Er, I'll try?" Tubbo offers, though it's a lie. All he knows how to do is worry about Tommy, his friend is a bit of a dumbass after all.

"You're a good kid, Tubbo," Wilbur says fondly. "You always do what you're told. You just keep that up, and we'll all be fine."

What a weird ass thing to say, but Tubbo chalks it up to Wilbur's current state of mind. "Thanks?"

Almost miraculously, before he has to think of something else to say, a new set of heavy footsteps sound from outside. A few moments later, Tommy stumbles into the room, doubling over and panting as if he'd ran the whole way. Tubbo immediately lightens up, and Wilbur steps away from the bed, turning to face the other boy.

"Tommy! You're back!" Tubbo exclaims. "Where the hell did you go, man?"

"Tommy," Wilbur says casually, shoving his hands into his pockets and staring down at him.

"Uh... What're you doing here?" Tommy glances from Wilbur to Tubbo, eyes narrowing.

"We just had a chat," Wilbur replies smoothly. "How'd your mission go, Tommy? Glad to see you're still in one piece."

"It  _ didn't _ go," Tommy says, sparing a quick look at Tubbo. "I got sidetracked."

Wilbur lips curl downward in a slight frown, and he says, sounding disappointed, "What a shame. Oh well, the only person you're hurting is yourself, so I suppose it's fine."

Tubbo doesn't miss the way Tommy winces, and he feels like he should step in and say something, but he's so very confused and out of depth. What were they even talking about right now?

"Well, let's hear it. What got you distracted?" Wilbur prompts, raising his brows.

"Big Q wants to join Pogtopia," Tommy says carefully, and Tubbo feels like someone's just slammed a brick into his head.

_ Quackity _ . Schlatt's vice president, a member of the cabinet he'd been a part of for some time, one of the people who had helped cage him in and kill him at the festival. One of the people who had died the same death he had. A shudder wracks his body, and he hunches in on himself a bit, hoping Tommy and Wilbur don't notice. Shit, this shouldn't bother him, but it does. He wishes he could melt into the ground and stop existing for just a few minutes, letting the silence and darkness envelope him in a comforting embrace.

"Big Q?" Wilbur echoes, and he gives an intrigued hum. "Now that's quite a surprise."

"He said... I dunno, all this shit about how he made a mistake putting Schlatt in charge, and how he didn't want all this." Tommy straightens, wiping sweat off his forehead with one arm. "So I told him I'd talk to you."

"Who would've thought," Wilbur says, a sharp laugh escaping him. "Ah... what's that old saying? The enemy of my enemy is my friend?" Without missing a beat, he pivots to face Tubbo, eyes glinting dangerously in the dim lighting of the room. "What do you think, Tubbo? Reckon we let Big Q into Pogtopia?"

Tubbo's heart catches in his throat, words dying on his tongue even as he tries to force them out. He shoots a panicked glance at Tommy, fingers curling tightly around the bed sheets as he grips them like a lifeline.

Tommy doesn't hesitate to step in. "Why're you asking him?" he frowns, eyebrows furrowing tightly together. "Leave him out of it, he's not in charge."

"Do you not value his opinion?" Wilbur clicks his tongue with a sad shake of his head, then turns back to Tubbo. "Ah, it's alright, I wouldn't be too offended about that. But I'd like to know what you have to say! Come on, Tubbo, wouldn't you love to have good ol' Big Q on the team?"

"I- I mean-" Tubbo stammers out, frantically looking to Tommy again. His face burns with shame and embarrassment, and he longs to take shelter beneath the bedsheets and hide until everyone's left him alone. "I just-"

"Wilbur, he’s obviously not feeling well!" Tommy snaps, intersecting himself between the bed and Wilbur. "Let's just talk about this outside. Ask Niki, maybe."

Tubbo hates this, hates the way he can't even get his mouth to work properly, hates the way Tommy has to act like he's a little kid who can't even speak up for himself. Most of all, though, he hates Wilbur's burning, piercing stare that feels like it's unraveling him bit by bit, the question hanging heavily and suffocatingly in the air between them.

"I don't care," he grits out, forcing himself to meet Wilbur's gaze unflinchingly. "I think you should do whatever you think a best."

Wilbur blinks, then a grin stretches across his face. "Well, I'll take that into consideration."

"Let's  _ go _ ," Tommy says forcefully, tugging on Wilbur's sleeve.

Tubbo can't help but feel relieved as his friend drags the other man from the room, the two vanishing down the ravine and out of sight. With them gone, the room is finally quiet, and he feels like he can breathe again.

*****

"Why'd you have to do that?" Tommy huffs, coming to a halt once he's reached the bottom of the ravine. His voice echoes around the empty cavern, a reminder of just how far they've fallen from grace. Wilbur stops a few paces away, pulling his arm back from him in favor of returning his hands to his pockets.

"Do what?" His friend asks with perfectly practiced innocence.

"You know what!" Tommy can't help but scowl. "Dragging Tubbo into it."

"Tubbo? I just wanted to get his input." Wilbur gives a short, off handed shrug. "He's a member of this little...  _ rebellion _ , isn't he?"

"'Course he is, but you know..." Tommy trails off, finding himself unable to complete the sentence. Because what was he supposed to say? Tubbo would just find this embarrassing, and he'd probably get angry, and an angry Tubbo is not something Tommy wants to deal with. "I mean, it's not like it's his decision," he finally replies, biting his lip.

"It's alright, Tommy," Wilbur surprises him by saying, offering him an understanding smile that immediately puts him on guard. "You don't have to mince words around me. I know, I get it; you're just worried. But this is personal to him, isn't it? So of course I just want to know how he feels. You wouldn't want to do anything that makes him uncomfortable, right?"

"I guess not," Tommy answers, eyes wandering around the ravine to anything but Wilbur. Oh, that crack in the wall is quite interesting. "But we gotta talk about this Quackity thing, yeah? What're we gonna do about it?"

"Well, Tubbo says he doesn't care, so I suppose that gives us quite a bit of free reign." Wilbur reaches out, setting both his gloved hands on Tommy's shoulders. Tommy tries not to stiffen under the touch, though his heart races just a bit faster. "Tommy, what do  _ you _ think?"

What did he think? Well, he'd already made his choice when he decided to walk away from Schlatt and return to Pogtopia, hadn't he? "I think it's the right thing to do," Tommy responds readily, leaving no room for doubt in his voice. "Letting Big Q in, I mean. 'Cause... Well, he feels real bad, for one, and if he's willing to help us out, why not take it? Especially since... well... You know." He clears his throat. "We sorta lost our spy on the inside."

Wilbur hums in reply, his burning gaze never straying from Tommy. He feels like he's being studied, almost, like some organism under a microscope. "So you say we let him in?"

"I guess, yeah."

"Hmm." Wilbur's grip tightens ever so slightly on his shoulders, and Tommy barely dares to breathe. "You know what? I agree. Let's let him in! It's a real party in Pogtopia now, isn't it? But Tommy, listen to me, Tommy."

"Er, I'm listening."

"You know we can't trust him, right?"

"W-"

"No, no, listen to me, listen," Wilbur interrupts before he can form a proper response. "I love Big Q! He's a great guy, real funny guy. Yeah, it was real funny when he ran against us in the elections, wasn't it? Real great when he combined his votes with Schlatt? Absolutely hilarious when he helped murder Tubbo?"

Every reminder is like a blow to the gut, and Tommy grits his teeth and tries to tune it out. "He said he was sorry. He felt real bad-"

"Oh, I'm sure he does." Wilbur clicks his tongue. "But you get my point, don't you? He won't be loyal to us if he joins Pogtopia. No, he doesn't want to help us regain power, he wants it for himself. He's proven that again and again! Just think about all he's done and use your brain, Tommy. There's no way he's really going to help  _ us _ , just help us help him."

"That just makes no sense at all," Tommy forces out, though his head spins and his feet feel unsteady. Wilbur's right, he thinks, and he hates that he has to admit it. It seems like Wilbur's right about a lot of things these days."So you don't want him in Pogtopia, then? God, you're so confusing."

"No, no, you're taking me all wrong! Of course I want him to join." Wilbur chuckles, squeezing his shoulders briefly before at last pulling away. Tommy tries his best not to sigh in relief. "I don't care, Tommy! It doesn't mean anything to me. But if you ever want to become president, if you ever want L'manberg back- and I know you do, so I'll help you!- you've gotta be careful. You've gotta do what's best for  _ you _ ."

"Which is?" Tommy isn't sure he wants to know.

The glint in Wilbur's eyes lets him know his fears were rightly placed. "Well, I say we use him for our own gain rather than really let him in."

"Use him?! Like... Like, betray him?" Tommy exclaims, unsure how to even begin to respond.

"Is it really betrayal? That's a bit of a harsh word."

"Well, he'd think he's our friend!"

"Do friends run against friends in an election just to throw them out of power? Do friends exile friends from their own country? Do friends murder friends at what's meant to be a festival-"

"Okay, you've made your point!" Tommy snaps, hugging his arms around his chest as a shiver runs down his spine. "But why would we do that?! Why not just- I don't know, work with him like normal people?"

"Because, Tommy, why don't you get it yet?" Wilbur sounds... frustrated? Annoyed? Disappointed, Tommy finally settles on. In  _ him _ . " _ He's using us _ . He's using us to get to power. As soon as Schlatt's gone, you know what he'll do? Turn right on us. You know his ideals don't match up with what you want!"

"He's not- well, he's-" Tommy stammers out, but for once, he doesn't have anything snarky to say back. "He just- he seemed real upset! He said he'd do whatever, anything, to make things right again!"

"And you just believed him? You're more naive than I thought, Tommy." Wilbur scoffs, releasing a tired sigh, then his voice softens. "God, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have sent you out on your own. You weren't ready..."

Annoyance flares in Tommy's chest, and something in his heart wrenches. He decides in that moment that he hates seeing that look on Wilbur's face, hates hearing that disappointment in his tone. He's not naive, and he's certainly not stupid, and the last thing he wants is for Wilbur to start doubting him. "I am too ready! I'm ready for anything! I just- well, I just thought-"

"You wanted to do the right thing," Wilbur says kindly, understandingly. "I know, Tommy. You don't have to explain yourself to me. But if you want to do the right thing for Pogtopia, for L'manberg, for all of us... Then you should listen to me. I just want what's best for you, you know?"

He sounds so earnest that Tommy can't help but want to believe him. And despite how wrong everything he's saying sounds, it also rings true in some twisted way. Quackity would never truly be on their side, would he? Even if they worked together, once their common goal had been achieved, once Schlatt was out of office, they'd just turn on each other again. Wouldn't it be better to gain an upper hand before that happened?

He's tired. Tired of war, tired of bloodshed, tired of watching his friends get hurt. He wants Niki to be safe and happy in her bakery with all the ingredients she could need; he wants the haunted look to leave Wilbur's eyes forever; he wants Tubbo to be able to run freely through L'manberg's gardens without having to worry about spying and politics and executions. Was it really that much to ask, to want to free his friends from pain and misery and death? There was no price he wouldn't pay for that; he'd sell out his own flesh and drain himself of blood and throw himself into battle after battle if it meant the people who were family to him would sleep safely at night.

"I know it's hard." Wilbur's voice is gentle, reassuring, a solid rock against the cruel world. "But you've realized I'm right, haven't you? It's alright, Tommy. Just let me help you. You don't have to do this all alone."

Wilbur's never been wrong so far, has he? He's always been there for him, a beacon of light to follow even when nothing else in the world made sense. So Tommy does what he's always done: he follows. "If you say so. I'll do whatever you think's best, then."

Wilbur smiles.


	5. first steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's official.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah geez, the pacing of this fic is moving a lot slower than I'd like, but that's alright (probably) :P I hope you enjoy all the same! :D <3 thank you again for all the comments and encouragement, it really means a lot more to me than I could ever say. Have a fantastic day!

Tommy knows it's better to rip the bandaid right off, so once Wilbur's returned to doing whatever Wilbur does, he heads back up to Tubbo's room, bracing himself for the onslaught of questions that's sure to come his way as soon as he steps through the doorway.

Instead, though, he's greeted with silence. Tubbo's still sitting up against the backboard of the bed, and he's staring at the wall like it's the most interesting thing in the world. Tommy half wonders if he's fallen asleep, so he clears his throat to get his attention.

"Can you help me up?" Tubbo asks out of nowhere, and Tommy starts in surprise. That was definitely not the question he'd been expecting.

"Um... you're already up," Tommy points out.

"No, like... Out of bed."

Tommy hesitates, torn between wanting to help his friend and his better instincts. "Tubbo, I'm not sure that's all that good of an idea. You're still-"

"I know!" Tubbo exclaims, slamming his fists down on the bed with a muffled thud. It makes Tommy flinch a bit, the action unexpected. "I live in constant reminder that I can't even leave this fucking bed! So just- just help me up! I wanna go downstairs. I- I wanna get out of this room."

An aching pang shoots through Tommy's heart at the despair and hopelessness in his voice. But he has to do the responsible thing, for once, if only for long term's sake. "I know," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's real shitty, isn't it? But you just gotta hang in there a little longer."

Instead of replying, Tubbo sets his mouth in a firm line. Before Tommy can react, he's moving, swinging his legs over the side of the bed with a short gasp of pain. Nevertheless, he continues, setting both hands on either side of himself before pushing himself painstakingly to his feet. He rises slowly, arms and legs wobbling and teeth gritted. Tommy feels frozen in place, trapped in time as he watches his friend get to his feet, now unsupported by anything at all. Tubbo takes one shaky step toward him, then another one, and for a brief moment, a spark of hope lights itself in Tommy's chest.

It all ends as Tubbo abruptly collapses, a pained cry pulling itself from his lips as his legs give out and he falls to the floor. It snaps Tommy out of the daze he'd fallen into, and he's instantly rushing forward, panic shooting through his veins. Tubbo hunches over himself, hands curled into fists and body trembling.

"Tubbo-" Tommy starts frantically, dropping to his knees beside him and reaching out.

"Just get off!" Tubbo shouts, knocking his hand aside. As Tommy meets his gaze, he sees his eyes are shining with tears. "I'm  _ fine! _ "

"No, you're not! You fucking-"

"Shut up! I don't need another reminder of how  _ useless _ I am!" Tubbo snarls. He slams his fists down against the cavern floor with a short scream, then repeats the action again and again as his tears turn to full out sobs, wracking his body with spasms and choking off his words. 

Tommy can only watch in horror, too shocked to move. Every sharp  _ thud _ echoes through his ears, reminding him almost of a heartbeat. It's only when Tubbo's knuckles turn a bloody shade of red that he jolts back to the present and reacts, seizing his friend by the wrists to halt his assault.

"Let go!" Tubbo shrieks, trying to yank away, but Tommy's grip is unbudging.

"Stop it, Tubbo!" he snaps, brows furrowed with the effort of holding him in place. "Just- just calm down and breathe!"

"I don't need to breathe! I need to- I need to-" Tubbo's own frantic gasping prevents him from finishing the sentence, his chest heaving as he continues to hyperventilate. His eyes dart around the room in panic, and he once more tries to free himself from Tommy, but he still refuses to let go.

"Just breathe, man! You're gonna- I don't know, pass out or some shit!" For the amount of fights he gets into, Tommy knows absolutely nothing about healing or medicine or all that doctor mumbo jumbo. Usually it's Tubbo or Niki who takes care of that sort of thing; in fact, Niki's been acting as an impromptu doctor since the festival, though there's not much she's been able to do with their limited resources. But Tommy figures whatever's going on right now is probably bad, and the best thing to do is to just get everyone to chill the fuck out. "Come on, in and out. I'll breathe with you, yeah? Just- just do what I do."

Tommy sucks in a long, overexaggerated breath, squeezing Tubbo's wrists tighter, and his friend gasps in response. "Yeah, okay, you're trying, that's fine. Here, now out. In and out. Just like me."

He continues his drawn out inhales and exhales, and slowly but surely, Tubbo's breathing calms enough to match his. Though his body still trembles, his hands finally relax enough for Tommy to figure it's safe to let go. His arms immediately drop back to his sides, and Tubbo's head sinks forward, coming to rest wearily on Tommy's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, voice wavering. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It's okay," Tommy hurries to reassure him. "I get it. I'd be... Well, I'd be pissed off too, if I was in your situation."

Tubbo gives a watery laugh in reply.

"Listen, big man, you're not useless, okay? I promise," Tommy continues cautiously. "Dying happens to the best of us, yeah? It's not your fault someone shot a goddamn firework at you. You're healing the best you can, and that's good enough for all of us."

"I know," Tubbo whispers. "But I  _ hate _ it. I just- I just want to go down and see everyone again. I wanna help them out. Wilbur needs me, they need my help, and I-"

"You can help us by taking care of yourself and recovering fully, alright?" Tommy reproaches softly. "Wilbur's fine, the only thing that guy needs is a therapist."

Tubbo laughs again, and Tommy laughs too, if only to help brighten the mood. "Come on, man," he says, shifting his position slightly so as to not disturb him too much. "Let's get you back in bed."

"Thank you, Tommy," Tubbo mumbles, gripping his shirt a bit too tightly. Tommy doesn't mind. "For everything you're doing."

"Of course, man," Tommy scoffs. "You'd do the same for me. Don't even mention it."

*****

Quackity's sleep is more restless than usual, full of sharp, pointed horns and burning stares and the screams of a boy being blown into bits. When he gasps awake, shooting upward in bed and panting heavily, the sun isn't even peeking through the curtains yet.

He gets ready for the day anyways, going through the motions of brushing his teeth and dressing himself robotically. His heart flutters nervously every few seconds as he remembers the events from yesterday, of what he'd asked of Tommy. God, he'd really done that. He'd formed an alliance with Pogtopia, and if Schlatt found out, he'd be  _ pissed _ . Quackity reckons he'd end up worse off than Tubbo, and the thought sends a shudder down his spine.

No, he can't regret it now. He can't let fear stop him from doing the right thing, though it clouds his mind and makes him question his judgment. The festival events play on repeat in his head, the fireworks and the screams and the pain. The punishment traitors get, Schlatt had said. Quackity was that traitor now, wasn't he?

He splashes himself with cold water to snap himself out of it, but the sharp chill does little to calm his nerves.  _ Just act normal _ , he orders himself as he starts for the white house, taking a longer route than usual to buy himself time.  _ Schlatt has no way of knowing. _

One of the perks of waking early is that he gets to watch the sunrise, basking the sleepy country of Manberg in a lovely golden haze. The citizens slowly stir around him as he makes his way down the wooden path, doors beginning to open and lights flickering on. It's at times like this that he feels a little less alone, the city bustling with life and heart. And for now, it's enough to distract him from his own mind's fear mongering.

As he approaches the white house, he half wonders if he's arrived before Schlatt. He almost hopes he has, if only so he can avoid the man as long as possible. Only one way to find out, he supposes, and there's no use stalling. Better to get things over with rather than drag them out. Bracing himself, he sets one hand on the door handle, preparing to push it open, but a hushed voice interrupts him.

"Hey! Big Q! Psst, turn around, you idiot."

Quackity nearly shrieks, biting his tongue just in time as he whirls around. Tommy's crouched behind a bush- a real shitty hiding spot, honestly, but the kid doesn't seem to care. He waves his arms wildly, beckoning him over.

Pinching the bridge of his nose and glancing briefly around to check for prying eyes, Quackity releases a sigh and comes over to join him.

"Tommy, what the hell are you doing here?" he hisses. It's too exposed out here in the open, and any minute now someone could walk up or take a peek out the window.

"I wanted to catch you before work," Tommy huffs like it's obvious, rolling his eyes. "Look, we gotta talk."

Quackity shuffles his feet uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. Well, time for the moment of truth, no matter how much he dreads either outcome. "Yeah?"

"Wilbur gave the green light, so you're in," Tommy tells him bluntly.

Quackity doesn't know if he's relieved or not at the answer. "Oh. Thanks, I think."

"But," Tommy continues, raising a finger, and Quackity swallows hard. "There are a few conditions."

"Lay them on me." He spreads his arms out, preparing himself for the worst. Whatever Pogtopia had decided, he probably deserved it, after everything he'd done. 

"You're going to be our spy on the inside," Tommy begins. "You tell us everything Schlatt's up to. But we won't tell you shit, 'cause I dunno if we can trust you yet."

"Uh... That seems kind of sketchy," Quackity replies, though he knows he doesn't exactly get a say in this. Was it really unfair? It made perfect sense for Tommy to question his real allegiance. It was just karma, really, and the guilt blossoming in the garden of his heart decides this is a fair trade. "But okay, yeah," he adds, before Tommy can go off on him. "I'll do it."

"Huh," Tommy says, as if he'd expected more argument. "Okay, well... Yeah, okay then. And also, you need to give me whatever shit you took."

"What?" Quackity's brows shoot upward as he tries to decode whatever the hell that's supposed to mean. "Like... drugs?"

"No!" Tommy exclaims, eyes widening. "No, god no! Like, the medicine! Whatever the doctors gave you! That let you- you know." He gestures vaguely at Quackity, a frown spreading across his face. "Be up and about again. You gotta give it to me, or you're out."

"Oh. Yeah, sure, man, no problem." Quackity holds up his hands. "What do you need it f- oh." The answer to his own question strikes him like a brick to the face before he can even finish it.  _ Tubbo _ . "Yeah, I'll get it to you. But I just gotta warn you, it's not going to be a miracle fix. I was lucky I didn't get hit head on, and we have actual doctors here. There's only so much medicine can do."

"I don't care," Tommy grits out. "It's better than nothing, isn't it?"

"Yeah, no, I know," Quackity hurriedly amends. "Just don't get your hopes up, is all I'm saying." He hesitates, another question burning on his tongue, but he's not sure if he should risk saying it. He's only just barely slid into Pogtopia's ranks, and he doesn't want to risk upsetting Tommy. But goddammit, he needs to know. No matter the cost. "...how is Tubbo, by the way?"

Tommy immediately tenses up, and Quackity half regrets saying anything at all. He steels himself for whatever's coming next, though, refusing to back down. At last, Tommy says, "Not good, no thanks to you."

Right, there it was. Quackity bites his lip, wishing there was something he could say that would make up for it. But there were no words that could heal wounds like this, so he doesn't even bother to try. "Can I see him? At some point?"

"No," Tommy instantly snaps, then pauses, a reluctant scowl forming across his face. "Maybe. If he says he wants to see you, I won't stop him."

"Alright. Thanks." That was good enough for Quackity, at least for now. Doubt flickers in his mind- would Tubbo even want to see him? If he didn't, Quackity wouldn't blame him. He'd deserve a rejection. Still, though, that doesn't stop him from hoping for a different outcome.

Something flickers in Tommy's eyes, and he briefly averts his gaze, shifting slightly as if uncomfortable. "That's all, then. I'll be off."

"Wait!" Quackity exclaims as he turns to leave. "I mean, what am I supposed to do now? Shouldn't we set up some kind of meeting? Do I have a mission?"

"Get the medicine and meet at my old house tonight," Tommy says over his shoulder. " _ Then _ we can talk."

"Okay." Quackity sighs in relief, shoulders slumping over. At least now he has something to do, some sense of order to follow. It puts him at ease for the time being. "Thank you, Tommy."

"Don't thank me yet."


	6. until the lights go down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quackity visits Pogtopia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaa I'm sorry this took literally forever, and it ended up being a bit short :P It's been a super low energy week, a lot's been going on, and I'm still digesting the finale :D 
> 
> Anyways, comments are always appreciated, and I hope you all have a lovely day! :D enjoy <3

Schlatt doesn't speak to him at all that day, which is both a relief and a cause of concern. On the few occasions Quackity bumps into him in the hallways of the White House, he can always see the dangerous gleam in Schlatt's eyes when he looks at him. That man is plotting something, and Quackity's not sure he wants to be around to figure out what. 

As the sun sets through the window, basking his office with its dying rays, Quackity packs up for the day. Paperwork is sorted back into the proper files and stored safely away in his desk, empty cups of coffee are tossed into the trash bin. Quackity shrugs back on his suit jacket, sparing a glance at the clock. Tommy hadn't given him a set time to meet- "tonight" was awfully vague. But he figures it's better to be early than late, and he still needs to stop by his house to grab his leftover medicine. He probably shouldn't give away his own supply, but he'd rather Tubbo have it than himself. He doesn't mind suffering a bit longer.

Luckily, Schlatt doesn't stop him on his way out. The bad feeling stirs in Quackity's chest, but he pushes it aside. No use worrying about the president now; he has other matters that are more pressing. His shoes thud lightly against the wooden path, his walk hurried and every step full of urgency. 

He keeps his stash his bathroom cabinet. Most of it's simple- healing and strength potions, painkillers, aloe vera and bandages for the burns on his skin. Things meant to speed the recovery process along, to prevent his injuries from getting worse and sending him into respawn again. He gathers it all into a bag before slamming the cabinet doors shut. It's not an overnight fix, but hopefully it'll do something for Tubbo.

With that done, all he has left is to head out for Tommy's old home. He discards his suit and changes it out for something more comfortable, something less Schlatt and more Quackity. Then he starts off again, making sure to lock the doors behind him.

The sun is nearly vanished when he arrives, the moon taking its rightful place in the sky. Tommy isn't here yet, so Quackity perches himself on the nearby bench and waits, staring out at the country of Manberg below. The quiet, peaceful night and gentle breeze is almost enough to set him at ease, and his shoulders relax despite the anxiety churning in his gut.

He doesn't know how long he sits there alone, but at some point, he registers a presence at his side. 

"Hey," Tommy's voice says, and he turns his head to see the boy standing over him. "You got what I asked for?"

"Yeah, all right here." Quackity hefts the bag for emphasis. "I hope it helps."

"It better." Tommy extends a hand, and Quackity wordlessly passes it over. He slings it over one shoulder, then says, "Okay, cool. Ready to see Pogtopia?"

"What?" Quackity stiffens in surprise. "Already?"

"Yeah, Wilbur's all crazy so he doesn't give a shit who we show our secret base to." Tommy rolls his eyes, seemingly exasperated. "And we gotta give you some show of trust, right? So let's go. Nobody followed you out there, right?"

"I sure hope not."

"Good enough for me." Tommy shrugs before turning away. "C'mon, keep up."

Quackity raises himself onto weary legs, trying to ignore the way they still wobble. He doesn't want to show any sign of weakness, though, so he does his best to follow Tommy without faltering. The walk is long, the moon steadily climbing higher and higher into the sky as they go on. His breathing grows labored, the exercise far more than he's used to since recovery, but Tommy doesn't seem to notice his difficulties. Or maybe he just doesn't care. Quackity doesn't mind either way.

At last, Tommy pauses by a hill. "Right, we're here," he says, and Quackity blinks. "Lemme just..." With that, he brushes aside a covering of dirt to reveal the entrance to a small hole dug inside.

"This is Pogtopia?" Quackity can't help but ask in disbelief, because it's... Well, tiny. There's not even anyone inside, just a bed and a few chests. This was the rebellion they'd been worrying about this whole time? It certainly isn't pretty.

"No, idiot." Tommy steps inside, and Quackity cautiously follows. Toward the back of the room, he gestures toward a staircase descending down into the ground, further than Quackity can see. " _ This _ is Pogtopia."

"That looks horribly claustrophobic. Well, lead the way."

The descend into darkness, the walls closing in around them. Quackity steadies himself against the wall for support, more exhausted than he'd ever felt in his life. All he wants to do is give up and sink down onto one of the steps to catch his breath, but he doesn't want Tommy's anger or pity, so he pushes himself further. Finally, they near the bottom, light pooling in from the entrance. And as Quackity emerges onto a platform, he sees the true Pogtopia.

"Wow," is all he can say. "It's..." Beautiful isn't the word any normal person would describe it as, but there  _ is _ a sense of beauty to the ravine, carefully carved and shaped by determined hands to be turned into something livable. Candlelight illuminates the long strip from lanterns hanging from the ceiling, chests and furnaces laid out at the bottom and various rooms mined into the sides. Yes, Quackity would say it's beautiful. 

"Ugly, I know," Tommy replies with an eye roll. "Wilbur wouldn't let me put decorations up. Imagine this place, but covered in diamonds! I know, I know, it would've been so much better."

"Where is everyone?" Quackity questions, peering down below. The ravine seems empty, no sign of anyone around.

"Uh, Tubbo's in his room, I think Niki's out, Techno... Well, I don't even care," Tommy mutters. "And Wilbur  _ said _ he'd be here, but-"

"Big Q!" a voice booms, and out from under the platform strides Wilbur Soot, spreading his hands. "I didn't think you'd be here so soon!"

Wilbur seems... Different, since the last time Quackity had seen him.  _ Really _ seen him- not at the festival, during the chaos and death and confusion, but back before the whole Schlatt mess. Quackity can't put his finger on it, but something seems off about the man. There's an unsettling gleam in his eyes, staring into his very soul.

"Hi, Wilbur," Tommy says with an exasperated sigh. "I'm going to see Tubbo. Catch you later."

"Wait-" Quackity exclaims in alarm. Tommy's ditching him? Leaving him alone with Wilbur? He wants to protest, but instead all he can do is watch as Tommy starts off down the ravine, soon disappearing out of sight.

"Come down, Big Q!" Wilbur calls, gesturing at him. "Let's chat."

Hesitantly, Quackity heads down the rest of the way until he's reached the very bottom. Wilbur smiles, sticking his hands into his pockets. His facade of friendliness- and Quackity knows it's a facade, because he's not stupid- does little to settle Quackity's nerves.

"So how've you been, Big Q? Since the festival, I mean?" Wilbur asks politely.

"You don't want me here, do you?" Quackity blurts. Maybe a little blunt, but he'd rather get right to the point.

Wilbur's brows raise sky high, and he gives a resounding chuckle. "No, no, you misunderstand me. I don't care whether you're here or not, because none of it matters to me! If you want to run around and play the good guy, by all means, be my guest."

"Somehow, I find it hard to believe that you don't care," Quackity replies with a frown. What in the world was this guy going on about? "Look, I get it. I wouldn't trust me either. But- god, I'm really sorry, and I want to make things right. I'll do whatever I can-"

Wilbur holds up a hand, silencing him immediately. "You're wasting your breath," he says with another eery smile. "Like I said, I really don't care. What you do is of no concern to me. You stay out of my business, and I stay out of yours."

"...right." Quackity decides not to push any further. "If you say so."

The other man laughs once more, slinging a casual arm around his shoulders. "Ah, Big Q," he says fondly, and Quackity resists the urge to pull away. "What are you doing here, Big Q?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well, I know you told Tommy you felt bad, but why are you really here?" Wilbur leans in dangerously close, and Quackity can feel his breath on his ear. "What are you looking to gain?"

"Nothing," Quackity responds uncertainly. "Just... forgiveness, I guess. Even if I don't deserve it."

"Ah, forgiveness." Wilbur laughs at that, moving away. "What a thing worth fighting for indeed."

"...I should probably head back to Manberg," Quackity says, clearing his throat. Really, he just doesn't want to be left alone with Wilbur Soot for another second. "I shouldn't be gone for too long."

"Leaving so soon? Shame, it's a long way back, and surely there are a few people around you'd like to say hello to." His eyes glint. "Your fellow cabinet member, Tubbo?"

Quackity flinches at the name, unable to hide his reaction. "I don't want to intrude," he replies, hugging his arms against his chest. "I'll just-"

"No, come on, let's go see him!" Wilbur insists, setting a firm hand on his back. 

"I don't know if that's a good idea," he protests, but it's no use. His feet drag along as Wilbur leads him up another flight of cobble steps, toward a small room dug out in the side of the ravine. Quackity can hear low voices drifting from inside, but Wilbur doesn't stop, just barges right in.

There's a bed set against the back wall, one of the few pieces of furniture in the room. Tommy is perched on the side, the bag Quackity had given to him at his feet. And laying beneath the covers, eyes widening as they register his presence, is Tubbo. The burns on his face are so much worse than Quackity's, marring his skin in an awful fashion. His eyes are dull, nearly void of the life they were usually full of.

The world freezes as they lock eyes, and Quackity stops short, feeling trapped in time. His words die in his throat, and suddenly he's at the festival again, fireworks crackling as his body burns and burns and burns-

"What the hell?" Tommy exclaims, shaking him from his daze. "Why'd you bring  _ him _ here?"

"I thought Tubbo should get to meet the newest member of Pogtopia," Wilbur replies evenly, slapping Quackity on the back. "Don't be rude, Big Q, say hello!"

"...hi," Quackity croaks out. "I'm sorry, I was about to head home, but Wilbur-"

"Wilbur, you fucking asshole!" Tommy shouts, starting to his feet. Quackity is shocked at the fury gleaming in his eyes.

"No, it's okay!" Tubbo intersects quickly, grabbing Tommy's hand. Nervous eyes flicker back to Quackity, and he says with an obviously forced smile, "Hey, Big Q."

"See? It's all well and good," Wilbur says, grinning widely. "No need to get emotional, Tommy."

Quackity feels oddly like he's intruding on something. Tommy's eyes flicker with obvious annoyance, and he stares Wilbur down before allowing Tubbo to tug him back down onto the bed.

"Tommy showed me everything you brought," Tubbo speaks up. "Thank you. That's real kind of you."

"It's the least I could do," Quackity responds, trying not to fidget. "I hope it helps a bit."

"Is that all?" Tommy intersects, mouth set in a tight line.

"So impatient," Wilbur chuckles. 

Quackity's grateful for the reason to leave, though, even if Tommy didn't have friendly intentions behind giving him an escape. "Yeah, I should really get back," he says, nodding swiftly. "It's getting pretty late."

"Oh." Tubbo bites his lip, then raises a shaky hand. "Seeya."

"Do you need a guide back?" Wilbur offers, tilting his head to one side.

"I'm sure I can find my own way," Quackity hurriedly replies. The last thing he wants is an awkward walk back with Tommy or Wilbur.

"Right, then," Wilbur says pleasantly, giving a satisfied hum. "G'night, Big Q. See you soon."

"Bye, Big Q," Tommy adds reluctantly.

"See you guys around." Quackity waves briefly before fleeing the room, relief filling him the farther he gets. God, why was it so easy to shake him up? As he emerges from the ravine back into the chilly night air, he allows the coolness to ease him, the memories of melting flesh fading from his mind. 

He walks back to Manberg in silence, his only company the breeze and the moon overhead. It takes him much longer to return, keeping his pace slow enough so he doesn't give out. Though he struggles at first to navigate his way back, eventually the glow of Manberg comes into view up ahead, a beacon of light guiding him in the right direction. When at last he makes it to his house, he practically throws the door open and collapses right into bed, chest heaving.

He's too exhausted to even bother changing. Through his weariness, sleep comes easy for once, and he's out before he can even gather the strength to climb under the covers.


End file.
